Beneath Skin and Bane
by HelenaVonValsa
Summary: Two brilliant minds fighting for power and control, overcome pride and obstinacy, learn tolerance and acceptance, exercise in forgiveness and atonement, revel in passion and obsession, blurring the thin line between fatal self-destructiveness and divine symbiosis. It's called politics. (HG/LM) ONGOING
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_Author's Note:_

_Special thanks goes to beta reader Madame Cyanure_

_I do not own the HP-characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling_

_As a reminder and for your own safety: M for later subjects and explicit language (I try to be reasonable)_

_I do appreciate constructive feedback_

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><p>"Worldly fame is but a breath of wind that blows now this way, and now that, and changes name as it changes direction." – Dante Alighieri<p>

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><p><strong>Beneath Skin &amp; Bane<strong>

**1 Prologue**

He pushed the button for the fourth level impatiently, over and over again until he practically slammed his fist into the digit. The workers turned their heads and stared at him quizzically. "It's not going to go any faster if you hit the elevator, Weasley," an old wizard commented drily and the redhead just grunted in response. The golden grilles slid open, people flooded out, memos flew in, and the lift set in motion once more. Finally, the lift voice announced: "Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and the Pest Advisory Bureau." The man stormed out, hushing through the corridor, right, left, left and tore a door open at the far end of the hall, causing the witch sitting at the desk to cry out in shock.

"Merlin, you gave me the creeps! Ever heard of knocking?"

Ron slammed the door behind him and started yelling. "Field work in the Auror Department, Hermione? FIELD WORK? What's gotten into you?!"

It would be a blatant understatement to describe Ron as not overly pleased about Hermione Granger's transfer from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to Magical Law Enforcement. The last time that she had seen him in such a state was when the Chudley Cannons landed at the bottom of the League last year. No wonder Hermione was taken aback by his sudden outburst, but she quickly regained her composure.

"Ron calm down, pl-"

"Are you crazy?!" He flushed bright red and slammed his fist down her desk, causing her to flinch back into her chair.

All colour drained from Hermione's face as she glared at Ron; livid and disgusted by his behaviour. However, she tried to answer in a civil manner. "No, Ron, I'm not but I _will_ if I don't transfer. You remember how much I grumbled about doing useless work? I really got fed up with pushing papers and desperately need a new challenge. I want to go out and see the world and this new post enables me to do so!"

"See the world!" he aped her. "Why do you think the International Confederation of Wizards convened an international taskforce to reinforce the International Statute of Secrecy? For fun? It's not a bloody weekend trip to Hogsmeade! Basilisks, the fight at the Department of Mysteries, Horcruxes, ill-tempered dragons, cat hair in Polyjuice Potions, mad Bellatrix, Fluffy, the Battle of Hogwarts! By Merlin's sagging balls, what did you think all of that was? I cannot believe that after all we've been through you're willing to put yourself in danger again!"

She huffed and retorted with a voice growing louder and shriller with every sentence. "Ah come on! You're completely exaggerating! I'm just working for a Muggle auction house. What's so wrong about detecting and confiscating magical artefacts in illegal possession of Muggles? Your father even recommended me for this post! Besides, someone has to do the job and I cannot think of anyone more suitable than me!"

"You know very well that he sees everything Muggle-related through rose-coloured glasses! But that's not the point. Ron countered, equally petulant. "You're abandoning us for the sake of your career!"

"Ron, could you please stop being so dramatic? I appreciate your concerns and that you care about me but you forget that I'm not a helpless witch. I really want to use my abilities for a greater cause and I don't see that happening if I stay here."

"What did you just say? _A greater cause?_ Do you actually listen to yourself? Fame clearly goes to your head!"

He had gone too far. Hermione rose from her chair and replied in a dangerously calm voice; her eyes narrowed to slits "Says you who shags every bit of pussy within a ten mile radius because they recognize you as a war hero. At least I'm trying to do something meaningful."

Ron's jaw dropped and he stumbled back, sounding mortally offended. "I'm really disappointed, Hermione." He darted out and slammed the door with enough force to make a picture fall from the wall, breaking the glass.

Hermione added quietly: 'So am I.'

Much to her annoyance Ron never managed to shake off his overprotective behaviour towards his former girlfriend. They broke up during her final year in Hogwarts while he was on the hunt with the other Aurors. As much they had shared with each other, there was always an insurmountable distance between them fortified by many reasons, such as his self-indulgence in his, she had to admit well-deserved, fame and its associated perks, or his lack of ambition but all of them were inane if the only thing that truly mattered was not there; the one type of devoted passionate love she was not able to feel for him.

Hermione repaired the frame with a quick swoosh of her wand and returned it to its former place. Not satisfied with the result, she stood up and straightened the frame where Harry, Ron and herself waved at her, laughing and smiling. The picture had been shot during Harry and Ginny's engagement party. Hermione slumped back into her chair. Needing to calm down, she shifted her attention towards the Daily Prophet lying on the desk. "Oh!" she exclaimed and read the article in the gossip column that caught her interest.

_THE MALFOYS HEAD FOR DIVORCE COURT_

_In the decade of glamour, they were the most glamorous, in the decade of greed, they were the greediest, and during the time of war they were the most deceitful but pride goes before the fall. Rumours of the seismic marital rift had whipped round the social circuit for months but was only endorsed until recently when an official file for divorce was handed in last week. After the ultimate fall of You-Know-Who by Harry Potter the former Death Eater family retreated from the social parquet to wait for their trial to come. Whilst the handsome and still unmarried heir Draco Malfoy came to terms with the Wizengamot's court decision and returned to Hogwarts for his N.E.W.T.s, Narcissa (née Black) and Lucius Malfoy's marriage took its fatal downhill. According to a witness the couple was seen arguing in the ministry when Lucius Malfoy filed for appeal of his sentence of seven years witchcraft and wizardry prohibition and wand-ban. "Lucius Malfoy moved out and left the Manor to his wife," reported an insider. Apparently, the head of the noble and ancient pure-blood family now resides in one of his estates. "No one has seen him months." Unknown are also Draco Malfoy's current whereabouts but according to a former peer, who wants to remain anonymous, he intended to study abroad. Neither Draco, nor the couple were available for any comment._

Hermione's attention shifted to the moving photograph, showing the family in court during their trial after the war. Mrs Malfoy looked slightly dishevelled but tried to maintain her indifferent mask while Draco managed to adopt a void expression. However, Mister Malfoy, evidently inflamed with rage, shouted something at the Wizengamot, which the picture could not render.

"Serves him right," she murmured smugly and remembered her first encounter with the Dark wizard. It was at _Flourish & Blotts_ and ended in a fistfight between him and Ron's father. The memory of his ruthless glare sent shivers through her body and her thoughts drifted to Draco. Since he was so close to his parents, it must have been quite a blow for him. She decided to write him after work. And since Hermione still owed him a bottle of Firewhisky for a lost bet, she could send the letter along with it.

_Enough_. Hermione took a deep breath. There was work to do.


	2. Chapter 2: A Clash of Egos

_Author's Note:_

_Special thanks goes to beta reader Madame Cyanure who has such a keen eye for details!_

_The copyright of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling, a woman who turns words into magic._

_Music is a invaluable inspiration for writing certain scenes and I don't want to deprive you of those pieces:_

_At the airport: Kruder & Dorfmeister (K&D Sessions) Alex Reece Jazz Master_

_Mr. Malfoy's first appearance: Prokofiev (Slatkin interpretation/Berliner Philharmoniker) Dance of the Knights (Romeo and Juliet)_

_The clash of egos: Haendel (Prague Philharmonic) Sarabande_

_Oh, and I do appreciate reviews :-)_

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><p>"No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected." – Gaius Iulius Caesar<p>

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><p><strong>2 A Clash of Egos<strong>

Hermione walked with small but determined steps pass the queue straight to the counter for Business and First Class passengers, where she was greeted by a young female station manager wearing a hideously fake smile and far too garish make-up. Hermione handed over her trunk, showed her passport and answered the security questions, having to speak up because of the noise beside her. The employee must have noticed her irritation and apologized submissively for the noise after she glanced at Hermione's frequent flyer card. Curious, Hermione turned to the economy counter to see what the cause of the commotion was.

"…paid for the seat. You can't tell me that you gave away my seat to someone else because I showed up just on time. I'm not late!"

"Sir, we're deeply sorry but there is really no other seat available, neither with an upgrade. But we can offer you a seat on the next…"

Hermione frowned at the scene. Why wouldn't the airline assign him a seat in another class? He was an old frail man and should be given some special attention.

"Miss, excuse me, why don't you upgrade him to Business or First? Surely, there is still a seat left?"

"Ma'am, unfortunately Business is full and we cannot...the policy does not allow us to upgrade him to First Class." The economy station manager sounded sincere.

Hermione decided not let that poor man down and addressed the station manager with the fake smile. "Please upgrade my seat to First and pass my Business seat to the old man. I'll pay for my upgrade with my miles."

Astonished, the employee complied and a smile of genuine content swept over Hermione's face at the sight of wide-open mouths and goggling looks the old man and the surrounding people were giving her. The old man thanked her effusively, promising to enjoy the flight.

"Miss Granger, I'm afraid but your connecting flight from New York to Los Angeles might be cancelled due to the upcoming blizzard. We're not yet sure but in case they close the airport, we will of course offer you a suitable accommodation. I apologize in advance for any inconvenience. Please enjoy your flight – oh, I just got the notice that this flight has a delay of half an hour."

"Let's just hope for the best," Hermione answered; taking her travel documents and heading for the gates.

The ground staff watched the young woman recede in the vastness of the hall and disappearing into the crowds when an impatient clink demanded instant attention of the employee in charge of the passengers.

"Ah, welcome..." she babbled, her sight still glued on the elegant figure when she finally managed to avert her eyes to take care of her next costumer.

The station manager froze in shock. Before her stood a tall man of impressive stature with flaxen hair, clad in a heavy black cape-like coat with a sleek mink collar, flowing elegantly down his proud figure. The way he stood, sturdy and still while holding an ornamented cane in his gloved hand, made it unmistakably clear that he was the epitome of pride and majestic dignity. However, the man's well-proportioned pale face held no warmth at all. Cold grey eyes bore into the station manager, almost bringing her to her knees, wiping away her so carefully conditioned fake smile from her face.

He tapped the cane on the counter once more and she could see much to her distaste that its handle was shaped in form of a snake's head with imbedded green sapphires as eyes. "This is my passport and my ticket. You may find it incredibly useful for the process of assigning me a seat on this aircraft."

The employee blushed in embarrassment. She was not unfamiliar with the condescending behaviour of certain customers but the haughty drawl of the man before her made her feel like a dim-witted slut. "I'm sorry, yes, yes, of course."

He raised his chin and wrinkled his nose slightly in disdain. She was utterly relieved when the man proceeded to the gates.

"Heavens, those posh twats have a way to deal with people and make us feel like we're nothing but filth," she murmured to her colleague who bit her lip, eyeing the man with lecherous eyes.

Hermione took a sip from the well-balanced but rich tasting Meursault Chardonnay and tried not to wolf down the meal before her; Grilled Scottish wild salmon, accompanied with red fennel and light lemon risotto. The smell was simply divine but treacherous, reminding her of her boss René who was probably going to deduct those miles from her salary, but at least she was able to help someone who was in dire need and enjoy the perks of luxury travel at the same time. _Screw money, that's every penny worth_, she decided after her first bite and closed her eyes briefly to revel in the beautiful composition of tastes unfolding on her tongue. _Yes, screw it._

Her gaze drifted lazily over the faces of the people in the lounge. There was a shamelessly handsome man about her age stealing charming glances at her. She knew that face from somewhere and it dawned upon her that she had seen him in a recent movie. Suddenly, the actor stood up and walked towards her. Hermione's heart jumped in anticipation but much to her disappointment he just passed by.

The all too familiar feeling of loneliness stung her heart and she scowled at the empty seat opposite of her. She missed her friends dearly, even more now after that lovely Christmas they have spent together at Harry and Ginny's place. Just this morning did she bid them goodbye and she could still recall her friends' heart-warming hugs.

Hermione finished her meal and savoured its aftertaste when she felt an odd tension pervading the room. Wondering what it caused, she looked up and froze when she crossed a familiar but unwelcome pair of cold grey eyes pinning her to the chair. Astonishment was followed by anger, which was immediately replaced by smug satisfaction. Hermione recalled that the Dark Wizard was not allowed to possess a wand and exercise magic by law for another couple of years. He was a headless snake, forced to adjust himself to a life worse than he ever imagined in his nightmares.

With that knowledge she stared back at him with the same curiosity she reserved for appalling yet strangely sensational exhibits in a museum. That analogy suited him well with his striking charisma that emanated an air of natural arrogance justified by blood purity, lineage and wealth, expecting everyone around to exercise submissive behaviour where he was concerned. Even his attire was deployed as a proud and deliberate statement of his heritage, emphasizing his beliefs in racial disparity. But what truly astonished her was that absolutely nothing indicated his age despite his scarce, fine wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth, and Hermione had to admit that Lucius Malfoy had a face made for eternity, as if chiselled from white marble by the gifted hands of Antonio Canova.

A hostess served him a glass of golden liquor and he touched her arm lightly, whispering something to her, and making her throw a coquettish smile at him before averting herself gracefully. It made Hermione furious to see him mocking Muggles just to provoke her.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione averted her eyes. She did not even notice the hostess' approach.

"Mister Malfoy would like to ask if you'd be so kind to join him?"

"What?" She blurted.

The woman cleared her throat in embarrassment. "Mister M-..."

"Yes, it would be my _pleasure_," Hermione answered coolly, not willing to give him the satisfaction of an open display of crude animosity that could be held against her as some sort of wicked proof for her humble upbringing or blood status.

She approached him, surprised that the wizard followed suit, only stopping once each had invaded the other's comfort zone. Hermione held out her hand provocatively, unmistakable in the interpretation on how she wanted to be greeted.

Lucius Malfoy cocked his eyebrows yet never tore his eyes from hers when he kissed it. The touch of his surprisingly warm lips and hand felt absolutely delusive in contrast to this wizard's past but she did not cringe. She ought to gain control of this situation.

"Miss Granger, we finally meet again," he greeted her in his cool, patronising voice crawling like spiders down her spine.

A faint spicy musky odour filled her nose, dazing her to such an extent Hermione did not notice that Lucius Malfoy made her sit down in the opposite chair by a slight but powerful motion of his arm and Hermione blushed at the realisation that he managed to exert his power on her with such ease.

"Good evening Mister Malfoy. How are you?" She asked him in politely, surprised by her controlled demeanour.

"I live. What more can I wish for, Miss Granger?" He answered in an equal manner. "I am surprised to find you at such a place."

"The same applies to you, Mister Malfoy."

"Your friends made sure of that."

The hostess placed a glass of whisky before her. Neither was willing to take the conversation further. However, there was not the slightest sense of disconcertment for Hermione. This was her territory.

She smiled inwardly when Lucius drained his glass. "Well, what an unconventional choice of travel for a…legend like you. Tell me, Miss Granger, what is the nature of it?"

"Work. I'm a specialist for the auction house Vuilleumier & Sons in Geneva, conducting valuations of European medieval and renaissance books and manuscripts," she answered not without a hint of pride. Merlin knew how many hours and nights she spent learning all what she could for her cover story.

"Ah, you surprise me. A witch of your reputation and talents working for an auction house? Surely, you were offered better positions? You wouldn't want your abilities and influence to go to waste, as you take such pride in being what we are. Either you must be very clever…or very foolish."

The accuracy of his precise cold read sent a chill down Hermione's spine. The wizard did not believe for a single moment that she was a mere Muggle employee and it did not matter how she chose to respond. Either way, he already knew it was just a cover. Checkmate.

"My heritage allows me the flexibility of switching between both worlds," said Hermione cautiously.

"Heritage, trade, talent. It may have escaped your notice but you share plenty of traits with the legendary heir of Slytherin."

"As much Tom Riddle Junior and I share, it is yet very little. He met his demise and I live. What more can I wish for, Mister Malfoy?"

His adamant eyes glistened but the face remained frozen. He seemed to smell blood. "How tactless of me to mention him in your presence. I ought to offer you an apology…if the compliment was not interpreted as such."

"Yes," she insisted, waiting for the apology never given. "But I suppose Malfoys are never taught how to issue one."

"It's an art nonessential to me, Miss Granger."

"But deceitfulness and ruthlessness?"

"Is this how people like _you_ refer to adaptability and will to survive?"

"You mean _Muggle-borns_?"

"No. Fools."

Her eyes narrowed. "Being, as you interpret, a fool proved to be a more successful strategy than yours."

"That's because we differ on the definition of success."

"If you consider being wandless a success, then I must congratulate you. It's the wisest choice you've probably ever made."

The way he looked at her strongly suggested that he would not forget that blow. And when Lucius Malfoy replied, his voice was sharp like a Damascus steel blade. "Oh, you're flattering me, Miss Granger, but I consider being alive and walking free the greater success. The inevitable inconvenience of being temporarily wandless is a small price to pay for the role _I've_ played in the past, don't you agree?"

Hermione huffed. _I could just stand up and leave._ But her own stubbornness held her in place, vehement that she would not concede defeat. She crossed her legs and arms, feeling his gaze wandering lazily up and down – quite bluntly, yet apparently unimpressed – and she could not help but blush in indignant embarrassment. The man really knew no shame. If they both sought to survive this trip unharmed, she would have to ram some manners down his throat. And nothing was as effective as reminding Lucius Malfoy of his soft spot.

"How's Draco?"

Her opponent's expression softened just for a fraction of a moment. "Ah, very well. Draco's attending university. Of course he excels, as I expect nothing less than excellence. However, I want to make sure of that."

"That's why we meet at such an unusual place. Well, I'm pleased to hear that Draco is faring well." And she meant it. It was relieving to discover a fraction of humanity in the Dark Wizard's soul, even if it only extended to his son.

"What is his major?" Not that she did not know; it was her who organised the learning material for his prep-studies and some legally forged documents from the Ministry of Magic. But Hermione was too curious to see how his father actually thought about his son's choice.

"What do they call it? Ah, _Economics_." He practically spat the last word, displaying his obvious distaste.

Of all wizards and witches who had strayed so very far from their parents' desires, the offspring of one of the most noble, ancient and pure wizard families had ended up studying Economics at a Muggle university. It was karma in action. His father looked like he was about to choke. Lovely.

"I didn't know he had it in him," she answered facetiously, not realising she actually smiled at Lucius Malfoy until his own lips twitched oddly in response.

"He is the fruit of my loins after all."

Hermione groaned, contorting her reddened face in shock. "Ew! Please spare me this image!"

The wizard's lips curled into a discrete sinister smile. "You've handed it to me on a silver platter, Miss Granger."

Hermione downed her whisky.

"Would you care for another one? I certainly would."

"Please, I insist."

Lucius Malfoy made slight gesture with his finger and soon enough two more drinks were served. It was unbelievable how someone with an authoritative charisma was able to control the whole environment instantaneously with such natural assurance and Hermione realised she envied him for his confidence that did not falter even in foreign climes.

"I'll have to excuse myself." Hermione stood up, barely noticing that he had mirrored the action, and headed for the restrooms.

As soon she the door behind her, she released a shrill, frustrated cry. Her sight blurred and her hands were trembling as she lifted them to her chest, feeling her heart racing. The sight of Lucius evoked scenes of the past, which ought to remain hidden. But they kept coming and coming and echoes of screams, shouts and snivels were filling her head, threatening her heart.

And his eyes; His cold grey eyes staring at her when she was being tortured in his own house by his own sister-in-law, watching her every move in naked fear. She glared back and he turned. She cried and he retreated.

She despised him.

The witch glanced into the mirror, staring determinedly at her own reflection as she whispered defiantly "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm a witch and I'm alive. And I'm on duty, so pull yourself together, girl!" She pinched her cheeks, lightly slapping away the images.

Hermione fixed her chignon, straightened her cream-coloured blouse and midnight blue pencil skirt, and went out.


	3. Chapter 3: Liquid Courage

_Author's Note:_

_Special thanks goes to beta reader Madame Cyanure!_

_The copyright of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling who saved my life when I was bedridden (and Mum for buying the Harry Potter books for me)._

_Translations of French terms are found at the bottom (for those who need it)_

_Here's the music:_

_A serious debate between two nerds: Lamb - Angelina_

_In the lounge: DJ Krush - Stormy Cloud (with Ken Shima)_

_Hermione wasted: Massive Attack (Mezzanine) Black Milk_

Oh yes, I'd love reviews

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><p>"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." – Napoleon Bonaparte<p>

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><p><strong>3 Liquid Courage<strong>

It came to no surprise to find that their seats adjoined. Either fate was searching for a way to spoil Hermione's flight or the ground staff had misinterpreted the nature of their relationship.

"So, tell me, Mister Malfoy, is it curiosity, ennui, masochism or sadism that brought you to seek out my company?" Hermione asked after they were seated.

"You may choose whatever reason you find most befitting, Miss Granger, since the result remains the same. But I assure you won't regret my company during that tedious flight."

"That sounds like a blatant promise to me," she said, sounding disbelievingly.

"Oh, and one which I intend to keep." The wizard tilted his head ever so slightly and shot a curious glance at her. "It's quite a coincidence to meet a specialist on antique books as I myself am a passionate collector."

"I'm listening..." She eyed him expectantly while the stewardess wafted flutes of Cuvée Dom Perignon under their noses.

"In regard to my son's…unconventional choice of education I recently acquired some pieces of Jean-Baptiste Colbert's collection-" he raised an eyebrow.

"_Bibliotheca Colbertina,_" she gasped and he inclined his head approvingly.

"-so I might as well encourage him to read more into Colbertism. But what truly caught my interest is the outstanding bookbinding. Of course, it never matches the beauty of the sixteenth century French embellishment designs but its refreshing minimalism exhibits a new masculine strength, which is a relieving contrast to the favoured flamboyant ornament designs."

Hermione was taken aback by his profound knowledge, yet irritated by his opinion. "Surely, you aren't referring to the Roffets?" The family ran a well-known bookbinding workshop.

"Not so much Pierre, but his son Étienne."

That was as good as a declaration of war.

"How bold! Étienne Roffet designed outstanding pieces, which can even be found at the Hogwarts library! The style of his embellishments is the most beautiful display of graceful and playful symmetry, the perfection of lush décor without becoming tawdry. Next you're going to tell me you love those crude fishbone-designs from the Scottish workshops of the eighteenth century."

Lucius Malfoy scoffed at her remark. "Oh, profoundly primitive in contrast to the Grolier books by Jean Picard."

"I don't deny that. He was a master of his trade." Indeed, even after so many decades, connoisseurs of the trade like bookbinders, collectors, art historians and designers held great respect and admiration for the Grolier books.

"And as it happens, I possess some of his most _bewitching_ pieces."

"Are you mocking me?"

His eyes glowed provocatively. "Not at all. Let me show you." He reached for his pocket and took out a palm mobile phone.

_Wait, what?_

Her hands darted up and covered her smile, biting back a burning laugh, which remained stuck in her throat while he was pressing the digits.

"Here."

The images showed a beautiful French reprint of _Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science_ by Argo Pyrites bounded in Moroccan leather, gilded with golden symmetrical ornaments and alchemistic symbols. From what she could depict from the images the book was in impeccable condition.

"I didn't know that he also bounded books for our kind," she whispered in awe, "It's beautiful."

"It is, Miss Granger, it is. Absolutely invaluable and _not_ for sale."

"Where did you get it?"

"It has been in our family for centuries and, as a matter of fact, it is one of my most favoured books on Alchemy. It's not the only treasure, here…"

Both got carried away in the discussion of his collection. At some point, they retreated to the bar to avoid further disturbances and continued their heated dispute about the cultural relevance of occult books.

"I cannot believe that you would sacrifice the whole collection of early prints of C.G. Jung's private library for a signed copy of _Easy Spells to Fool Muggles._" Hermione threw her hands up.

"It's absolutely ridiculous and utter Muggle nonsense, not worth the paper it has been printed on! Everything of _that_ nature is unworthy," he countered equally huffy with a dismissive gesture. "Profane occult Muggle literature reads like _The Quibbler_; although the latter has a greater right to exist in comparison to the other rubbish." His voice was loaded with passion and his usual loftiness disappeared from his face.

Much to her surprise, Hermione could sense that he actually enjoyed their disputes as much as she did, and it crossed her mind that it might have been a long time since Lucius Malfoy had spoken to another expert on the subject.

"So, it's just about the origin?"

"Precisely. Muggles that venture to write about our magic? Downright preposterous!"

"You sincerely neglect any connection between Muggle mysticism and our kind? Do you even read what you collect?"

"I certainly do, Miss Granger, but the question is why you think it's of any relevance. What did _you_ exactly find?"

"Admittedly, nothing essential in those books, but the references _are_ there nonetheless." The witch calmed her voice as if sharing a secret. "For the origin one has to dig deep into the world of _the_ Apocrypha, if you know what I'm talking about."

"You opened the lid to a bottomless pit, a dimension which holds great secrets. Great but dangerous, Miss Granger. And it confirms me in my belief that you share more with…Tom Riddle than you're willing to admit."

"You – you dare to compare me to that vile…monster! Nothing defines who we are more than what we choose to do."

But Lucius Malfoy did not give in. "And what do you think paves the ground for our _intrinsic_ choices?"

Hermione's nostrils flared. Not to have the upper hand in a dispute was as rare as a dragon egg in Hogwarts, but Lucius Malfoy was a formidable opponent.

"You have a disgusting habit of always wanting to be right."

"Miss Granger, I could say the same of you. Furthermore, I _am_ always right."

"Bah! I will prove you wrong, Mister Malfoy."

The wizard raised his chin. "My, my, how bold you are. Is that a challenge?"

"Yes." She voiced with such passion that her opponent's pupils dilated.

He assessed her with a condescending glare. "Prepare to lose because I play to win," the wizard voiced calmly and downed his fourth or fifth double Scotch.

As already feared, the crew announced that the airport and highways would be closed due to the appalling weather conditions. Perfect. Now she was stuck in New York with a former enemy and not allowed to Apparate for the sake of her disguise.

The arrival procedure would have been very chaotic if it had not been for their expensive tickets and while they were ushered to the next lounge, Hermione briefly wondered how Lucius Malfoy got hold of a passport. Whereas she had the rare privilege of a genuine one as a Muggle-born witch, pure-bloods like him certainly did not hold Muggle birth certificates.

The witch was just turning around when she saw a ground staff member approaching the wizard who was sitting like some Roman senator granting audiences. He really looked like a statue.

"M-…Mister Malfoy, do you have any preferences concerning your accommodations?" Hermione could sense the impending answer of the proud man and intervened before he crushed that poor lad who was simply trying to do his job. Besides, it was time to gain the upper hand again.

Touching Lucius Malfoy's shoulder, she butted in confidently, "Gramercy Park Hotel," while he turned his head to stare at her hand. "Please check if there are any suites available and give the hotel manager my name, Hermione Granger." The employee nodded gladly and went off.

She bent down and whispered "You won't regret that. They have special rooms for our kind."

"You are certainly pushing your boundaries," he noted with a voice so sharp and patronising it made her feel like eleven again.

"The lines are blurred somewhat in this world," she countered.

"Not with me."

"Of course."

With a sudden motion he rose to full height and walked towards the reception, turning the expressions of the ground staff into submissive fear as soon they had spotted him. Hermione could not help but roll her eyes and ordered a drink at the bar, determined to ignore that she went from merry to groggy and probably worse.

"Certainly a strong character."

Hermione beamed at the handsome actor, excited that he really addressed her. "Indeed."

"I'm Hugh by the way."

She shook his hand and returned his smile. It was nice to talk to someone normal for a change and flirting was not as difficult as she remembered with such a charming man, she thought while they were chatting and laughing (and exchanging numbers).

"An acquaintance?" Hugh nodded towards the direction of the lobby.

"Hardly. He's the father of my former school nemesis. May I introduce, notorious Lucius Malfoy."

He chuckled. "Malfoy? I went to school with a Malfoy."

"Come again? M-a-l-f-o-y? But you weren't in Hogwarts? I'd know!"

"Hogwarts? No, never heard of. I went to Dragon with Marius Malfoy. Sadly, he went to Eton whilst I attended Winchester College."

"No way." _Merry fucking Christmas, Hermione, _she thought and felt an invisible clap on her back. How sad Harry was not here to witness this small epic moment. "Ah, how…unusual for the family...say, was there…how should I describe it, something strange about him?"

"Oh yes." Hugh gave her a mischievous smile, so outrageously charming it could twist any woman around his little finger. "He was extremely well endowed."

The witch dropped her jaw. "Hugh!" She covered her eyes and he just laughed.

"I must apologize, that was very naughty of me. Seriously, he was a top-notch student. I think he's a lawyer these days – Oh dear, he just read her the riot act." A hostess at the desk started to sob and disappeared into the office. "Well, it becomes quite clear why his son was your nemesis with such a role model."

"_Mais non!_ His son is a bloody saint in comparison. I daren't imagine what would happen if his father knew that I snogged hi-" a groan escaped her lips and she covered her mouth. "_Merdre_! Ignore what I just said, or at least be polite and keep your mouth shut," she murmured abashed.

_Damn alcohol._

Hugh just winked at her. "Well, you seem to have made quite an impression on him."

"Ah, we have some history…"

The man choked, spilled his gulp back into his drink and started coughing and laughing.

"Oh God, not like that! That's not what I meant! Gosh, no, no!"

Lucius Malfoy beckoned her over with a sweeping gesture towards the exit and Hermione bid goodbye to her new acquaintance, promising to give him a call.

As she strolled towards the wizard she started to see things double but the prospect of a hot shower and snug bed held her on her feet.

"The automobile is ready," he growled satisfied while the ground staff was collecting their luggage. That man certainly had an interesting voice.

"Finally! _J'ai besoin de sommeil_," Hermione slurred, falling back into French, as she often did nowadays with a drink or two too many in her blood stream.

Lobby, hall, garage, car; everything started to look smudgy and she giggled, finding it funny like the paintings she saw once in the Musée D'Orsay. People left trails of colour behind. That was nice and she thought of Luna who might have found that interesting too.

_How did I get into the car?_ Hermione wondered briefly but could not quite hold on to a thought; everything was so distractive. That leather cover smelled far too strong. Why was it so hot anyway? She really needed a glass of water but how could she order any water if someone was calling her name?

Her name?

"_Oui?_" Hermione murmured and opened her eyes. Did she fall sleep?

"_Nous sommes arrives à l'hôtel._" The smooth voice felt like a melting ice cube on her back. Exactly what she needed.

Hermione managed to stumble out of the car but suddenly everything started to spin and rotate around herself. Was gravitation just a myth or why did the ground veer up?

"_Attention!_" She heard the same smooth voice from far, far away. By Merlin's beard, that voice was really gorgeous.

There was a supporting arm in reach and she grasped for a hold and fell onto a warm chest, saving her from the merciless cold and hazardous ground. Why was everything made out of concrete anyway? Why not soft grass or sand? Why not cotton? Or…

_That – oh – that's fluffy. Oh God, that's incredibly fluffy._

"_Merci,_" Hermione slurred and took a deep breath, running her hand through smooth luxuriant fur. Something smelled incredibly delicious and she hummed appreciative, nestling her head up to the body emanating that scent.

Whoever it was, it had to be someone nice, she formulated in her intoxicated mind. Nice and fluffy. Like Viktor.

Her world shrunk into the confines of a soft mattress, falling headlong into a long and dreamless slumber.

* * *

><p>Mais non ! = But no!  Surely not!

Merdre = Damn

J'ai besoin de sommeil = I need sleep

Oui? = Yes?

Nous sommes arrives à l'hôtel = We arrived at the hotel

Attention ! = Careful!

Merci = Thanks


End file.
